Break the Silence, Damn the Night
by Anastasia-G
Summary: Damaged souls are the same everywhere, be it in Mystic Falls or Beacon Hills. Bonnie and Derek are about to realize that witches and werewolves are not that different after all.
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be pretty AU. You'll recognize canonical events but I play fast and loose with them because I want different journeys for these characters. This starts post-S3 Teen Wolf but without the Alpha Pack.**

**For the record, I'm establishing that Bonnie's close to the same age as Derek.**

* * *

Bonnie Bennett pulled at the door once, twice, thrice before giving up with a frustrated cry. _I'm going to murder Stiles. _And Scott too. She would skin Scott's werewolf hide for a nice winter coat right after reducing Stiles' computer to a pile of ash.

"I'd say it's locked." Derek's dry observation rankled her further. Of all people to get locked in a classroom with. What the hell did Stiles mean "You guys need to talk"? She had plenty of people to talk to, thank you, and asshole alphas with egos big enough for their own zipcode were not on her list.

"We'll have to find another way out," Derek continued, checking the windows. The moonlight silhouetted his tall form, the broad shoulders and aquiline profile.

"Do you have any idea why Scott brought you here?"

"No," his response was quick and clipped. _Too quick._

"So," she leaned against one of the desks, playing with her small locket. "He didn't say anything about 'talking'?"

He shrugged, folding his arms, "No."

Her eyes narrowed. Derek would rather nosedive into a field of wolfsbane than admit it, but she knew Scott was the closest he had to a friend. If Scott and Stiles were co-conspirators in their predicament, did that mean Scott knew something was bothering Derek?

She raised an eyebrow, sizing up the tall alpha, "Really?"

He shoved off the wall, deliberately ignoring her question, "Let's figure a way out. Those vents might work," he pointed at the ceiling, then glanced at her, "You look like you'll fit."

"Why don't you just break that window? Or better yet, break through the door. Isn't that how you take care of things?" she shot back.

"Yea sure Bonnie, let's just tear up more property so the police can be all over it. Now quit being a princess and get over here."

There it was again. _Princess_. The last time he'd called her that they were both bleeding, panting and shouting,_ "Look, you wanna be a dead little princess? Fine. Just do it on someone else's time."_

_Princess. _How dare he.

Derek had already pushed two desks together and climbed them, his movements balanced and precise. She'd been around werewolves in her time, but none quite like Derek. He was a born wolf, sleek and strong and powerful, with a rougher edge to him than Klaus and Tyler's urbane charm. It was probably why he felt justified strutting around like the the world was his Beta.

"I didn't think you needed help from princesses," she walked over but kept the ice in her voice.

He used his claws to pry the screen, "Stop stalling and get up here." The screen came off easily, releasing a vapour of dust. Bonnie frowned. She would've liked to see him struggle a bit.

"Tell me Derek, were you born an asshole or did you just spend years learning how?"

Ignoring his extended hand she climbed on the desk, coming level with his broad chest before turning around.

The vent-shaft was a good couple feet above her, she waited for him to help her up.

"Well go ahead," he mocked.

Her jaw clenched.

"Are you going to help or do you just really want an aneurysm?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she could hear the grin in his voice

Strong hands grasped her waist and lifted her, "You're tiny."

"Shut up, Derek."

She grasped the vent-edge and started to hoist herself up, feeling Derek's hands loosen. _Almost there. _Her arms shook with the effort, but just when she'd hoisted one knee into the space her hand slipped. Stomach hollowed in panic and fingernails scraping against smooth metal, Bonnie fell bac with a small cry of alarm.

One heel landed on the desk, the other dangling while Derek's arm wrapped around her midsection and steadied her against him. She clutched at his arm without thinking.

"You ok?" he grunted.

_Princess._

"I'm fine," she bit out, wriggling against his firm grip. "Let's do this."

He lifted her again, "Try not to fall this time, and be quiet."

Resisting the urge to kick him in the face, Bonnie hauled herself into the small tunnel, her hands finding purchase at last.

* * *

Kicking her way out of the second vent, Bonnie landed on light feet. Her brief time in the high-school cheer team came in handy at surprising times.

Scott and Stiles had used lacrosse sticks to barricade the door shut. She rolled her eyes.

She briefly considered leaving Derek to fume all night. The image of him having to explain himself to school officials made her snicker.

With a resigned sigh Bonnie dislodged the sticks.

Damon Salvatore said something once_ "Put this in your cauldron, witchy, and stir well: if you're too afraid to hurt people, they'll never be afraid enough to love you."_

Alphas and vampires and hybrids. Boys pretending to be gods. She shook her head and pushed the door open.

Derek was lounging against a wall, hands in his leather jacket. "I was beginning to think you'd left."

"I almost did."

He snorted, then his face grew serious, "Do you need a ride home?"

Bonnie bit her lip. She was staying at the McCalls' house a few miles away; it was a chilly night with rain expected, and Derek's Camaro was warm, fast and comfortable. But in the end her pride won out.

"I'll walk," she said, then added pointedly, "Need some air."

He frowned, "You shouldn't walk by yourself. It's late."

"I'm not sixteen, Derek," she rolled her eyes.

"Doesn't matter," he took a step closer, his eyes dark-green and serious, "I'm driving you home."

Bonnie stood her ground, wishing her five-inch impulse-buy stilettoes were on her feet instead of gathering dust in the back of her closet. Their height difference and the fact that he could lift her easier than picking up a thimble probably encouraged Derek's attitude.

"Well I'm not one of your betas either, and I'm walking home."

She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply.

* * *

Half an hour later, she was still several miles from the house and the rain showing no sign of relenting. Bonnie found a tree and huddled under it, trying to text while shielding her phone from the water. Rain dribbled down the back of her shirt, and her fingertips were stiff and awkward from the cold. Maybe Stiles could come get her, he_ owed _her.

She looked up as the Camaro appeared, dark and glistening like a jaguar pelt.

Derek rolled the window down, "Trying to get hit by lightning?"

She scowled, running a hand through her damp hair. If only her witch powers extended to lightning manipulation. Then _she _could drive the Camaro home.

Derek leaned across the seat to open the door. "Get in, Bonnie."

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"You're shivering."

"And you're still an ass," she retorted without missing a beat. These days her tongue was more like a half-drawn blade, poised for defense.

"Tell me Bonnie," he mimicked her earlier comment at him, "were you born this stubborn or did you learn how?" she saw his teeth flash in a grin. She'd had to cultivate stubbornness, oh yes, and learn the hard way to put a high price on trust.

Another tart reply rose to her throat, but the thought of dry clothes and a warm bed stifled it. She chewed her lip.

"Come on, I could've driven you home four times already."

"Fine." She climbed in with a stony face, and it took everything not to sigh with relief as the warmth washed over her, leather seat cushioning her aching limbs.

"Glad you decided to be reasonable," Derek remarked.

She leaned into the seat, suddenly tired and recalling she hadn't eaten anything except a tuna salad since lunch.

"I haven't decided not to give you an aneurysm yet."

He snorted, keeping his eyes on the road, but she saw him adjust the temperature control so heat blanketed her feet. She waited for a snide comment from Derek but it never came. There was only silence and the soothing swoosh of windshield wipers.  
Snug and drowsy from exhaustion, a luxurious sleepiness crept over her, dragging her eyes shut. For a moment she was back in Mystic Falls, dozing by the windowsill with that sweet Virginia breeze lifting her hair, stirring the leaves of the mulberry tree outside her window, and Grams, smiling, a glass of homemade lemonade in her hands _Wake up, sweetheart._

The sunshine faded, melting into glassy rain around her. She was pillowed on something dark and soft, and the scents of her childhood home receded into wild pine, damp earth and...ashes.

She tried dabbing away the strand of hair tickling her mouth with a sleepy hand. Then she felt it moved, tucked behind her ear. Someone was speaking. Not her Grams: the voice was deeper.

Her eyes eased open and found herself slumped quite comfortably against Derek's shoulder.

"Wake up princess," he said with a strange softness. She took another breath of his pine-and-smoke scent and her senses shot awake.

Bonnie sat up with a jolt, blinking, just as his hand withdrew from her hair.

"Had a good nap?"

"Don't touch me."

"You were using me as a pillow."

"Go eat some wolfsbane."

"You're welcome," Derek retorted as she slammed the door hard.

She was too irritable, wet and tired to notice until later: but lying in bed she reached for the familiar pendant at her throat, and realized with dismay that it was gone.

* * *

** As always, reviews are much appreciated, especially since crossover pairings like this rarely get much love xoxox**


	2. Chapter 2

"Can I remind you again this is probably illegal?"

"Right Stiles, because you've never done anything even remotely illegal," Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"That's different," Stiles hissed, struggling to keep up. The forest swallowed the crescent moon's light, and his sneakers kept slipping on the damp earth.

It really was different. Tracking a text or hacking into his Dad's radio didn't frighten him nearly as much as the mission Bonnie had convinced - no _coerced_ - him to join.

Bonnie lowered the flashlight, "Is this it?"

"The place where the scariest guy in Beacon Hills who isn't behind bars lives? Yes, Bonnie, I believe so."

Ignoring his comment, she crouched low to the ground, scanning the periphery.

The remains of the Hale house brooded in the shadows, all bone-white walls and eyeless windows. Despite Stiles' abnormal fascination with morbidity, the place never failed to unnerve him. Cemeteries and dead bodies were objects for analysis; you could slot them neatly into the filing cabinet of life and death. But this place? Like a skull's grin, or a headless body twitching: something that lingered against all laws of nature, maimed but unfinished.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home." Bonnie was saying, "No lights in the windows."

_Yea that doesn't mean shit. This is Derek Hale. He's probably lurking in the woods ready to maul trespassers._

"Umm the scary black car of Death is here," he pointed out.

Derek's Camaro was indeed parked by some trees close to the house.

"Good. It's what we came for. Ready?"

"No, I'm the unreadiest in the history of unready people."

"Hey, you owe me remember?," her voice took on that soft, implacable quality that made him forget she was small and pretty with a penchant for flowery shirts.

"Look, I said I was sorry for locking you guys in the school, and I'll never ever do it again, now can we please go?"

Bonnie squared her shoulders, "Stiles, this is my dead grandmother's necklace."

"And this is Derek Hale's car you're breaking into."

"He doesn't scare me."

"Well he scares me. Do you know how many times he's threatened to rip my throat out?"

She was already creeping along the trees, "Just stand guard like I asked you to."

He took the flashlight from her while Bonnie whispered some Latin at the car-door.

A blue light flickered and then she was sliding into the car.

Stiles liked Bonnie, he did. Living in a town of werewolves it was refreshing to meet a supernatural creature whose powers didn't involve fur, fangs and raging bloodlust. Plus she was pretty bad-ass when necessary. Aside from Scott she was the only person who'd stood up to the Sourwolf and lived to tell the tale.

"Hurry up-."

She was on all fours across the front seat, searching between the armrest, ass in the air and tight jeans leaving little to his imagination, even in the faint moonlight. He angled his head for a better view. _Actually, just take your time._ Yea, definitely an improvement on werewolves.

"Take a picture Stiles, it'll last longer."

_Shit._

Derek Hale loomed over them, arms crossed and thumbs pointing up. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles saw Bonnie scramble out of the car.

"I know what this looks like -" she held out her palms.

"Hmm, let's see," Derek shrugged. "I look out my window and see two people walk up to my house but instead of ringing the doorbell, they magically pop the locks on my car. I'd say it looks like breaking and entering."

_You don't have a doorbell_, Stiles almost added but decided against it. Derek seemed to be enjoying Bonnie's mortification, so he took his chance to clear his name, "Can we let the record state state that this was NOT my idea, that I'm here under duress, and that it was NOT my idea. Right Bonnie?"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Yea Stiles I'm sure she threatened to beat you up and made you come all the way to the woods. Why are the two of you breaking into my car?"

Maybe it was his heightened instincts of self-preservation after months of werewolf company, but he could swear a slight growl was creeping into Derek's voice.

"I thought I lost something in here," Bonnie interjected, drawing Derek's attention, "I convinced Stiles to come with me. But it's not here so, we're gonna leave you to...whatever it is you do in a dark house by yourself. Come on Stiles, let's go."

He didn't need to be told twice.

"Hey Bonnie, just a sec," Derek called after them, "What did you lose?"

As far as Stiles was concerned they should just keep high-tailing it while they could. Bonnie paused and after a moment's hesitation faced Derek, "My necklace."

"Well I had the car in the shop yesterday," he shrugged again, "Nothing turned up."

Stiles watched Bonnie's composure slip. Her brow furrowed, mouth opening into a soft "Oh no." He knew how important the necklace was to her, despite the nonchalance she'd been affording Derek.

Derek's own deadpan expression lifted for a moment, "Well uh...we can call the auto-shop and make sure if it's important," he offered.

At this point, Stiles' startled brain got the better of him, "I have to say I'm a fan of solutions that don't threaten anyone's throat. Especially mine."

Derek cut him a mild glare, "Your throat isn't safe."

_Right, then._

Bonnie looked indecisive again, clearly as confused by Derek's helpfulness as he was.

"I'm sure it'll turn up," she bit her lip, before adding, "Sorry we tried to break into your car."

Derek took a step towards her. "Okay but uh what does this necklace look like, just in case it turns up?" he asked in a low voice. His expression was as serious and attentive as if Stiles was a mere fly on the wall.

_Okay? OKAY? Since when was Derek Hale okay with anything, let alone people invading his car?_

"Maybe he's been sniffing some wolfsbane," Stiles muttered to himself.

"It's small, silver," Bonnie was saying, "My um...my grandmother gave it to me."

_Is he... smiling?_

"Well, I'll keep an eye out, princess."

_PRINCESS?_

"Yea...thanks. I guess."

"You're welcome," Derek turned and walked back in the house. Stiles noticed that he'd left the car door open, but Bonnie didn't seem too interested in continuing her search. They started heading back and Stiles pondered his miraculously intact jugular.

"Wait...," he grabbed Bonnie's elbow, "Derek calls you 'princess'?"

"One of the many reasons I wanna murder him," she muttered, "Why?"

"I dunno, Bonnie," they continued walking, "That's the nicest thing I've heard Derek call anyone."

"It's not nice, it's condescending."

"It sounded almost...affectionate." _Now there's a word I never thought I'd use about the Sourwolf._

"If that's affectionate I can't wait to see straight up friendly."

"Bonnie, we were breaking into his car and he offered to help us find what you lost. He's threatened to kill me before because I stepped on his foot."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Hmph, let's just go."

He swallowed the rest of his teasing. _Princess_ though.

_Scott's gonna love this._

* * *

"What's your poison, Hale?"

"Wolfsbane. But I doubt they make a martini with that," Peter Hale gestured at the bartender.

His companion smiled, "I'm glad you're amusing. I'd hate doing business with a complete stick-in-the-mud."

"I'm flattered. But I doubt you came all the way here and brought me to this -," he gestured at the small, shadowy bar, the peeling paint, the dull, throbbing music, "- charming venue to exchange vague pleasantries."

"Quite right," the man rested his elbows on the bar, clasping his long, elegant fingers together. His hands would look equally apropos around a champagne-flute or a scalpel. "I'm here to inquire after your affairs, or rather, our affairs."

The bartender placed Peter's drink in front of him. Vodka martini on the rocks. He made a face at the dusty glass. _Bastard could've at least suggested some place they have a working dishwasher._

He hazarded sip. It was like drinking buffalo piss. Granted, he'd never actually tasted buffalo piss, but he imagined it was tongue-parchingly bitter with a vague aftertaste of grime and stale olive. He coughed it down, "Next time, I choose the rendezvous place,"

"I'm rather hoping the next time will be..," there was a pause, full lips parting for a flash of teeth, "decisive."

"But I was having so much fun getting bossed around by someone my who looks half my age."

"_Looks_ being the operative word. Are we any closer to discovering the Key's whereabouts?"

"No, but I'm working on it." He resented being questioned like a schoolboy, but desperate times and all that, plus if he prided himself on one thing it was the ability to swim with the current.

"And Bonnie Bennett?"

Now there was an interesting question. He'd been keeping tabs on the saucy little witch since she'd arrived in Beacon Hills. He'd briefly considered enlisting Derek's help, figuring someone closer to her age would have better luck gaining her trust. That idea lasted all of three seconds when he'd concluded Derek would either give something away with his signature lack of subtlety, or worse, develop some puerile attachment to the girl. _He's been spending too much time with Scott McCall._

"She's a tight-knit little thing, but I have my plans."

"I do hate being a nag, Peter, but might I remind you we're on a bit of a tight schedule."

"I'm aware of that," he pushed the buffalo piss away, "And I have every intention of making this a most auspicious winter solstice."

"For both of us, I hope," the smile never reached the other man's eyes: those were calculating, sardonic, and far too impassive for Peter's liking. _A poker player of extraordinary composure._

Well, he had his own cards to deal.

"My dear Klaus, I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

**Leave a review if you have a moment! :) Reviews are a fic writer's bread and butter**


	3. Chapter 3

**I apologize for the delay but this is going to be a long fic with several plotlines so there's a lot of planning involved. This chapter in particular took a long time to assemble because I wanted to develop a relevant back-story for Deaton as well. Rest assured dear readers I won't abandon this fic since I have it all planned out, and if ever there's a long gap between updates it's because I'm working to ensure I give you something quality to read. :)**

* * *

Someone was watching him.

Non-werewolves could never understand. It felt like barbed steel coiling around your spine, tightening with each move. Derek had seen Bitten wolves driven to frenzies, incapable of recognizing their body's defense mechanism. His mother once told him of an old Hunter's trick - stalking young Omega wolves for days until the wolf succumbed to his own overwrought instincts, leaving him a cowed and easy target.

_Wolf instincts are curved blades Derek, if you don't master them, they'll cut you to pieces._

He'd felt it mere minutes after Bonnie and Stiles left, awareness crawling over him as he surveyed the woods from the battered porch. He focused his hearing, parsing out the nocturnal scurrying of raccoons and squirrels, the stir of pine-needles in the breeze and the distant cars on the freeway.

Derek sniffed the air.

Something else accompanied the familiar scents of damp earth and wild-pine. He took another whiff to make sure. There it was, a lingering, carrion rot. Another body in the woods?

He couldn't, _wouldn't_ think of Laura, her open mouth and white eyes, the dirt clinging to her entrails. In his mind she was sleeping in her favorite jeans and plaid shirt with the ends knotted above her hip, hair all loose and burnished chestnut in the sun. The way she'd been that last time. _Answer your phone, Derek._ A quick nudge of foreheads and his own eyes smiling up from her face. _I'll be back soon._

He stepped off the porch, arms at his sides, shoulders tense. The smell was unmistakable, wafting through the night-air. Derek remembered the open Camaro door and strode over. The crescent moon slipped beneath a cloud, and steel tightened around his vertebrae.

He suddenly remembered that Bonnie and Stiles were on foot, and reached for his cellphone.

A flash of motion in the car-window and he swivelled, gagging on the carrion smell. The metal pipe aimed for his head smashed the side-mirror.

The boy swung again, and Derek reached for his throat, but at the last second the kid ducked, crushing his right knee with a blow that was either lucky or practiced or both.

Legs buckling, the alpha red flared in his eyes an claws and fangs sprang to life. Braced against the car, he swung his arm to deflect a blow, using his free hand to claw the boy's shin and knock him off balance. Derek was on him, pinning his arms. He barely flinched at the kid's vicious head-butt, but then he snarled, showing teeth crusted with a green foam, and again the acidic rotten stench burned straight up into his brain. In the second it took him to blink, the boy sank his teeth in, tearing at his arm like a rabid dog.

* * *

Alan Deaton was settled in for the night with a hot cup of ginseng, a book, and his cantankerous cat Willard settled by his feet when the phone-call came.

Not for the first time since Scott McCall was bitten and the Argents returned to town, he was glad he rented an apartment close to the clinic. Although, Derek Hale was the last person he expected to call for help. That boy was stubborn as a rock and so secretive he'd give the CIA a run for its money. He dressed and headed out with some urgency.

A quiet night and empty streets, the faint rush of the I-90 rhythmic as a distant sea. Stars peeking through a dusty sky like the bleary eyes of old drinking buddies. The familiar bounce of his medical bag at his hip. It was all here, except for Fatima. There was a time when he wasn't alone in this work. _Like Batman and Robin,_ she'd joked. An army daughter and nurse by training, she could soothe a crying child and sew up the tattered flesh left by werewolf fangs without blinking an eye.

Rounding the corner he saw Derek's signature black Camaro taking up two parking spaces and a bit of the sidewalk. Deaton glimpsed his tall, leather-clad figure for a moment before it swayed against the car. He rushed forward and found Derek struggling to stand, skin pale and clammy under the streetlight.

"What happened?" he eased Derek's arm around his shoulder, supporting his weight as they trudged to the clinic door. "Wolfsbane bullet?"

"No...bite."

"Bite?," they were inside and Deaton could feel Derek's steps getting heavier. He ruled out werewolves and kanimas for the obvious reasons. An alpha wolf wouldn't be troubled by a wolf-bite and the kanima issue was, well, taken care of.

"I was at my place and this... thing...just jumped me."

Deaton helped him into a chair and turned around for the light switch. Derek took his jacket off, teeth-gritted.

"Jesus-"

Blood soaked his arm from elbow to bicep where a chunk of flesh was torn. Deaton squinted and made out a green pus coagulating around the ragged skin. Something stirred in his memory.

"It..won't..heal," Derek hissed, "Been..two hours."

Deaton felt his feet move before his mind caught up. Kneeling beside the chair he lifted Derek's arm, "What was it that attacked you?"

The shoulder clenched, "A... kid...maybe a couple years younger than Scott. Just jumped me... out of nowhere...fought hard too."

Deaton felt another shift in his memory, but this time it awoke and slithered down his spine. "A teenager," he straightened, "What did he smell like?"

"Like roadkill in the summer...why?"

"Where's the thing now?"

Deaton unzipped his medical case. The outer case was arranged with basic veterinary requirements: sedative, syringes, a small chew-toy for anxious patients. He lifted out the compartment, revealing a second, less conventional collection of items: mountain ash, powdered wolfsbane in airtight containers, two vials of kanima venom and other roots and herbs he hadn't touched in years.

"I almost...almost ripped his throat out but then he...," Derek paused, wiped a hand across his damp brow. He sounded like a man trying to piece a hallucination together, "He..stopped, and...begged. Said he...didn't want to kill me. I locked him...in..the basement."

Deaton found what he needed in the case: a small metal capsule the size of an acorn, "Thinking with your head instead of your claws, I'm impressed."

Derek sniffed, "What's all that stuff?"

He put on his gloves, "Your wound isn't healing because it's tainted with magic. Dangerous magic."

"This kid...he punched and bit me, how is that magic?"

"Magic works in a hundred different ways, Derek."

The capsule contained a coarse, flaky ash which he emptied into a petri dish. "This is white oak ash," he explained, "From a tree that was destroyed."

"What does this have to do with-,"

"I can't say for certain without examining him, but it sounds like this creature was controlled by dark magic."

The alpha's eyes gained sudden focus, "You've seen this before."

A muscle jumped in Deaton's jaw, and he ignored the soft hiss of memory in his ear. "If I'm right the ash will do the trick."

He poured the flakes into his palm and pressed it to the wound. Derek's arm jerked with such violent pain Deaton was almost knocked backwards. The muscles in Derek's neck corded and strained, his lips pulled tight against clamped teeth. Then Deaton felt it, a sudden cool whisper of air beneath his palm. He withdrew his hand.

The ash was gone, and so was the wound. Derek's gaze met his, brow furrowed. "How did you-,"

"Whoever's doing this has access to corrupt magic. We need benevolent magic to fight it."

"What-,"

"How well do you know Bonnie Bennett?"

A snort.

Deaton replaced the items in his case and zipped it close, "Do you have something against the girl?"

The younger man picked up his bloodstained jacket, avoiding Deaton's eyes, "She'd be better off in the Peace Corp."

Deaton had only met Bonnie once, the night she'd helped Scott fight off a rogue omega wolf, but he'd been impressed by her combination of raw power and fierce determination. She'd be a force to reckon with even if she wasn't a Bennett witch. Derek knew how to master the unwritten laws of werewolf survival, but witches were a law unto themselves.

"Whatever your personal feelings about Bonnie, we're going to need her help."

A grunt was his only response.

"You said the creature's contained?" Deaton confirmed.

"He's not going anywhere."

"Good," he turned off the lights and checked the thermostat, "Get Bonnie to meet us at your place tomorrow. She might be able to use her magic to find out who's controlling the thing and how."

"What, she's gonna whisper in his ear and he'll spill his guts?"

They re-emerged into the humid night air. Derek Hale was in need of a thorough education about the history and purpose of magic.

Maybe Bonnie Bennett could do it.

Deaton exhaled, "Try not to get bitten again in the meantime. My supply of ash is limited, to say the least."

"Someone can't plant another oak tree?" Derek unlocked his car.

"A witch would know, not me."

Derek shrugged and got in and Deaton watched him drive off until the silence settled on his shoulders.

Fatima had excised the supernatural world from her life a long time ago, yet here he was. He liked to think this was a calling, the type of bitter, exacting vocation that only acquired heroism in the safe glow of hindsight.

But other times, when he missed Fatima's rich laughter and the quiet warmth of evening chess-games, when he'd pat Scott on the shoulder after a surgery and memories of another boy, another time, would grip him unbidden, those times he'd wonder, maybe he only held on because he had nothing else left.

The cloud-musty sky recalled a similar day, the smell of damp earth and fresh chrysanthemums, the salt sting of tears in his throat.

_From the earth did We create you_

_The voices chanted soft and sorrowful. Inna lillaahi wa inna ilayhi Raaji'oon. He couldn't look at Fatima, though her hand was clenched in his. To Allah we belong and to Allah we return. He couldn't comfort her or even speak to her, couldn't release the handful of earth he was holding. If he had to hear the sound of soil hitting flesh he'd go mad, jump screaming into the open grave and cover Ismail's body with his own. I'm sorry oh god I'm so sorry. He shook from the effort of standing. Bismillah-i wa'ala millat-i rasulilah. He closed his eyes. Fatima nudged his shoulder. Deaton opened his palm, let the wind scatter the earth he could not._  
_Minhaa khalaqnaahum. Wa minhaa nu'eedukum. Wa minhaa nukhrijukum taaratan ukhraa_

"From the earth did We create you, and into it shall We return you, and from it shall We bring you out once again."

Magic worked a hundred different ways, but it could fail you just as many times.

* * *

**Reviews are deeply appareciated as always. I have part of the next chapter written so hopefully the next update won't take as long. There's also going to be significant Bonnie/Derek interaction in the next chapter. Again, thank you to everyone who's been following this story and left me reviews, I hope you stick around for the ride :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A thousand apologies to you all, my dear readers. Life bowled me over and between a broken internet connection, my hubby getting a pleasantly unexpected week off from work, then travel and brief illness, this chapter lingered far too long in the editing stage. I hope this is worth the wait. Many thanks to those of you who left reviews, favourited and followed this story. **

* * *

The text came at 8.a.m.

Bonnie glanced at it, frowned, and headed into the Beacon Hills Youth Resource Center where, thanks to a recommendation by Melissa McCall, she'd been working for two months.

Last week, the center director, Lakshmi Behrens, had approved her idea to start an afternoon dance class for high-schoolers, and she was pretty pumped. While she'd never shared her high-school classmates' obsessive passion for cheerleading, she missed the simple camaraderie fostered by dance routines.

She glanced at her phone again, wondering how to respond._ Ugh, later_. After punching in, Lakshmi gave her a list of tasks and by the time she was done updating records and cleaning burnt cheese off the microwave it was almost 11 a.m, and the text still lingered in her Inbox:

_8.00 A.M: Need a favor. When do you get off work. -Derek_

He'd seemed almost like a normal person after being helpful and concerned about her lost necklace. Well, normal people didn't ask 'favors' without precedent. Especially when she was sure this 'favour' wasn't moving furniture or walking a dog.

_11:15 A.M: Uh hi. What kind of favor?_

_11:20 A.M: Better explain in person. 5 pm?_

A year ago she would have responded without hesitation. For so long, she'd been Bonnie Bennett, witch, and helper. Ever since her magic awakened she couldn't remember a time when it wasn't being used in the service of Elena or Elena's lovers or Elena's lovers' friends.

Beacon Hills had seemed an innocent enough place to find herself the few times she'd used her magic to aid Scott were a joy; despite his teenage impulsiveness, he asked questions and gave answers.

Derek was the exact opposite. He gave answers when he saw fit, and if you didn't like them he'd flash the claws and teeth. There were times when she wondered if Derek had just wondered in the darkness too long, with no guiding voices except his own demons. She thought of Damon, and the way Elena kept insisting he was just lost, kept holding his hand even while the bodies and broken friendships piled up around them.

No. Some people stayed lost because they don't want to come back. Because their former selves are dead.

She punched the text and hit Send.

_11:40 A.M: No promises._

* * *

The sun was still lingering at 5pm when Derek pulled up at the youth center, giving the faded yellow building a buttery warmth. When he was growing up the place was a dance studio. _Sheila's? Sandra's?_ He remembered some boys in middle school cutting class to peep at the dancers. He'd gone with them once, impressed them all by climbing down the fire-escape ladder to escape gym class. He could remember the taste of cheap peppermint ice-cream, Freddy Mendez with his gel-stiff hair talking big about all the girls he'd kissed, the sweet rush of of nervous adrenaline mingling with the heavy scent of gardenias from the bushes they'd hid behind, risking occasional glances through the window.

Of course his mom found out, and he was forbidden to speak to those boys again. An image pierced his mind of her elegant, icy face grown white with anger. All of his memories of Thalia Hale sprang that way - sudden-sharp as a switchblade.

The center door opened and two women walked out. He recognized the slender one with a curtain of black hair framing an oval face as Ngila Morrell, the guidance counselor at Beacon Hills High School. She was in her work clothes but her cream-colored shirt was untucked and her shoulders relaxed.

"Is Bonnie here?," he asked in the most easygoing tone at his command.

The second woman sized him up. Up close she was short but athletic looking, with a diamond stud setting off her rounded nose.

"I'm Lakshmi, the center director. You Derek Hale?"

She had an army jacket slung over one arm, the other resting around Ngila's waist. A vivid blue-and-yellow tattoo covered her shoulder.

"Yea, did -,"

"Bonnie said you'd be stopping by. She's almost done with her class."

Feeling the curious scrutiny behind their eyes, he tried a more forthcoming approach, "It's important."

Ngila twitched her eyebrows, and he had a vague recollection of seeing her with Deaton.

Lakshmi just shrugged, "Bonnie vouched for you, so let yourself in."

They brushed past him with a brief nod and he caught their fading whispers as they disappeared down the sidewalk.

_"...like a bad Patrick Swayze movie."_

_"Bonnie vouched for him...?"_

_"No accounting for taste."_

He glanced at his reflection in the door: leather jacket, grey t-shirt, scruff. The only cosmetic items he owned were soap, hair gel and toothpaste. _Patrick Swayze?_ _Hmph_.

Walking into the foyer he noted the walls were cheerful yellow and covered with posters and landscape art. To his right was a lounge area with a pool table, vending machine and TV. A small hallway led to a kitchen and he could smell leftover pepperoni pizza.

Another door to his left closed off the dance studio from which music crept out in a fast, familiar beat. He leaned against the receptionist desk, glancing over the various brochures, noting they all specified that the center did not offer overnight facilities.

He looked up as the music stopped. A group of teenagers emerged through the studio door, laughing, sweaty, all careless t-shirts and rainbow nails and big hoop earrings.

"Thanks Bonnie!"

"See you tomorrow!"

A couple of the girls gave him looks on their way out.

The studio lights went off and Bonnie appeared, toweling her neck and shoulders,"So what do you want, Derek?"

Her ponytail bounced with each step, a yellow headband framing her glowing, damp face. Bare and sweaty though it was he realized, ( and not for the first time) that it was a striking face. The slight asymmetry of her jaw didn't detract from the wide green eyes, cat-like cheekbones and full lips. If anything, it gave her candy-sweet features an intriguing edge.

"We need you to take a look at something."

Eyes narrowed, arms folding so that her cropped shirt hitched higher over a bare midriff. Her sweat-slick skin glowed like brandy, radiating a heat and scent that his heightened senses couldn't help responding to. Cinnamon perfume and sweat was a heady, salt-sweet mixture. His mouth watered, a rush of blood to his lower body making him stand up straight and cross one ankle over the other.

He cleared his throat, "Do you need an engraved invitation?"

"Well since you asked so nicely."

"Look, something attacked me last night. Something controlled by magic. Deaton says if you get near this kid you could do some kind of psychic thing-,'

"A reading," she corrected, a crease appearing between her slim, arched eyebrows, "Where were you attacked?"

"At my house."

She chewed her lip. He found himself staring at the press of teeth against her plump lower-lip and averted his eyes to her shoes: white with bright yellow laces.

"If this was last night...it waited till Stiles and I left. So you were the target."

He shrugged, "It doesn't make sense, my family never had anything to do with magic-," he stopped._ Magic works a hundred different ways, Derek._

Hadn't Peter used some magical mirrors and moonlight to resurrect himself? Or was it only magic when a witch conducted it? And if Peter had known of such things, who else in his family knew?

"I'll change and meet you there," Bonnie's voice was crisp and business-like. He nodded and headed for the door.

"Derek," she called out.

He turned in the doorway and saw her standing with one hip angled in defiance. Derek recalled how easy it was to lift her, the small waist and the feel of bones light as a bird. Yet she stared him down like the queen of an Alpha pack.

"If there's dark magic involved, we do it my way, got it? No wolfpack rules, and no killing unless I say so."

He should've bristled at her tone; he was an alpha after all. But it was something quite unlike irritation that stirred in his blood.

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Whatever you say, princess."

* * *

_He saw her without looking._

_Before she could retreat, the tall man stopped, and turned, looking right at her where she was concealed under the gardenia bushes. She was good at hiding, most adults never knew she was around. But he was Different, she could feel it the same way she could feel the rains before they came, or the sickness growing within old trees. Her abuela called it Seeing._

_For a moment her heart froze and she half-stood, ready to run. His eyes were grey-green like sea-glass, piercing but not cruel. She pushed strands of messy black hair from her face, and his mouth twitched in something like a smile before shades covered those penetrating eyes. Without a word, he disappeared into the shiny black car and sped off._

_After a few moments she crept along the side of the yellow building and crouched down. Hunger washed over her in waves. The half-eaten hamburger she'd found in the dumpster wasn't nearly enough. The last of her quarters was spent on a Coke, but it wasn't as sweet and refreshing as Jumex Piña, her favourite drink since she was small._

_Her big brother, Mando, had told her to stay by the bridge where they'd stashed their blankets and food. I'll find you ok? he'd grinned and pinched her chin, reassured her like he always did. But that was two weeks ago. Maybe more._

_And the dreams came every night now, over and over: the dead tree with it's talons for branches, a grey sky full of snowflakes, melting to ash on her skin_

_Some of the other street kids talked about the shelter, but Mando had said they needed to lie low. You never know who's spying for Them. The place seemed cheerful and welcoming though. Maybe they had food. Her stomach growled in encouragement. Just then the door opened and a lady walked out in bright white shoes, carrying a heavy garbage bag. She was very pretty, with a bouncy ponytail and a heart-shaped face. Their gazes met and she noticed the pretty lady had even prettier green eyes and long lashes like a Barbie doll. Then she felt it - a strange cool shiver down the middle of her head and into her chest - settling in that deep place where the dreams came from. Pretty-lady stared at her, the garbage bag hanging from her hand._

_She ran._

* * *

**I know there are several plot threads happening but rest assured they all come together. Drop me a line or leave a review, dear readers. Your feedback is ever so important and always treasured ^_^ I will try and update sooner next time!****  
**_****_


	5. Chapter 5

**Don't kill me for the delay! I'm planning my wedding which is in July, so life has been topsy turvy. I promise I won't abandon this story, even if the gaps in updates seem intolerable. Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed thus far!**

* * *

Derek's fist slammed into the grimy wall, bits of plaster flaking to the ground and making Bonnie jump. His hand came away flecked with blood.

They were in his basement, whose moldy air and charred debris made it even more unsettling than the upper floors of the ruined house. There was also an unmistakable stench of rotting flesh that almost made her gag. On the floor along the left wall she saw the broken chains where Derek's strange attacker had escaped.

"Any idea how he got out?"

A clipped snarl was her answer.

She stooped by the chains and poked them with tentative fingers.

"The metal's been broken off," she noted, "I think he was stronger than you realized."

"No," his voice faded with him up the stairs, "He had help."

She hurried after him and they emerged into the night air. It was too cloudy to spot the moon, and wind gusted like shadows in the trees. She could sense the coming rain. When she was little she didn't understand how the rain and sun were always familiar like yesterday's dreams, until Grams explained witch-senses to her.

"What should we do?"

"Track him." Derek was already striding into the woods, and she struggled to keep up.

Something wasn't right. All her instincts were clamoring.

"Derek! Wait, we should-,"

But he was already disappearing into the pine trees, his leather jacket absorbed the shadows,

"Wait here."

Of course she hesitated only a second before plunging after him,but he'd vanished into the forest and she was left muttering to herself about ridiculous alphas and their egos. Bonnie leaned into a tree, reaching a habitual hand for her throat only to meet empty skin: Gram's necklace still hadn't turned up. A startled red squirrel darted by her feet and disappeared up a different tree. The first few raindrops caused soft leafy vibrations all about her and she thought of the strange girl who'd run away from her earlier. Did she have a safe, dry place to sleep? The memory of that pinched face with its frightened, dark eyes troubled her. But it was more than that, she'd sensed something, felt the girl's fear and surprise like a crackle of static in her fingers.

She took out her phone and typed a hurried text to Derek:

_8:30 PM: Leaving._

The deep growl made her freeze, finger poised over the 'Send' key. It came again, but weaker. _Derek_. She followed the fading sound as best she could, but she was no werewolf, and the forest in darkness may as well have been a labyrinth.

A hand grabbed her arm and she screamed. The face above her was bestial and angry, teeth bared and eyes glowing red. "Derek! What-,"

His face changed, grip loosening as he slumped against a tree. In the faint moonlight his skin was ashen. "Wolfsbane," he spat, angling his head in a sharp, indicative movement.

She stepped around him and climbed over some damp logs. Her foot slipped on the moist leafy ground and she cursed. There was a cluster of sharp rocks jutting out of the ground, and behind them a small clearing where the smell of new-turned earth mingled with the soft rain. At the center of furrowed earth lay a dirty denim jacket and battered sneakers. She picked up the jacket and dropped it right away: it reeked of the same carrion smell clouding Derek's basement. Wreaths of purple wolfsbane made a messy circle around the items. She pushed them off with her foot and a glint of silver caught her eye. Blinking against raindrops, she had a sudden wild surge of hope that it was her lost necklace, but it was only a small silver medallion pinned to the jacket's right breast-pocket. She unpinned it; the metal was warm like someone had clasped it tight.

Bonnie ran her thumb over the engraved silver and retraced her steps to Derek.

"What's that?"

"I found it by the wolfsbane, I'll do a quick read on it. It may tell us where our guy is." As she spoke, she traced a circle in the earth with her foot, drawing herself to the center when it was complete. It was raining a bit harder, but there was energy pulsing in the small, silver medallion, she could almost taste it. Werewolves weren't the only creatures who could follow a trail.

"This only takes a few minutes, but if I look weird and if my eyes go all white that's normal," she explained, "just don't break the circle and don't step into it."

He braced his arm against a tree, "What happens if someone breaks the circle?"

She ignored his small smirk. "The circle keeps my magic contained and protected. Break it and there's no controlling what I see and what I don't."

The vision took her like it always did: a sudden submersion like plunging underwater. There was the roar of silence in her ears, that brief moment which was all she had to prepare herself. And then the images came one after the other all at once, clearer than dreams but no less chaotic. She saw a river by night and its dark, swirling waters called her like a mother's embrace. Then the water stagnated and she could taste rot in her throat. _Stop. Please. No._ Someone screamed. A white figure rose from the riverbank, blood glistening on its mouth. Corpses floated on bloody water. The young girl stood under a tree, watching bodies float downstream. Bonnie struggled to call her senses to heel; a witch's power was useless if she couldn't guide the Seeing. But something was wrong. The waters rose all around her, foul and seething. They filled her ears, her mouth, her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Blue and orange spots swam behind her eyes. I'm drowning. The magic pounded in her veins, desperate to escape. It was trapped, she was trapped. The circle that was to protect her now closed like long, deadly fingers around her throat.

Bonnie tried to scream. The tightness at her throat loosened. Derek's eyes flashed red above her and for a terrifying instant that seemed to last a whole night she was surrounded by fire, feeling the flesh melt off her, the endless roar of hungry flames. A boy ran home to his family and found only ashes and bone. A young wolf searched the woods for his sister and found her in pieces.

A darkness deep as the void folded its wings around her.

* * *

Her head throbbed like a searing band of metal tightened around her skull, and there was a bitter, salty taste in the back of her throat. Slowly the darkness receded, shapes appeared, her vision centered and clarified itself. She was in a car. A few blinks and she realized it was Derek's car.

"What...happened?"

"You tell me," his clipped voice softened, "I thought you said you knew what you were doing, princess."

Bonnie struggled to pull images from the pounding inside her head. "That medallion, must've been dark magic-" It came back fierce and sudden: the black choking water, the Hale house fire and those brief moments when she'd seen through Derek's eyes, walked in his memories. They lingered in her mind; she could smell the ash and burnt flesh, see the whites of Laura Hale's eyes, dead as a landed fish.

"Pull over."

"We're in the middle of-"

"Pull over, now."

She managed to clamber out and take two steps before the first spasm choked her. The vomit surged bitter up her throat, making her gasp with each retch until her stomach was emptied and she stood there, bent double, letting the rain dribble cool down the back of her neck.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel and her eyes followed Derek's jeans up to his face. She noticed the front of his shirt was rain-streaked, and that his usually spiky hair was soft and damp. It gave his face a poignant, boyish quality like in the visions, a dream burned away too soon.

No snarky comment ensued. He handed her a small bottle of water and stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, until she straightened up and wiped a hand across her mouth. The water was stale but felt good against the acid taste on her tongue.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened back there?"

"That medallion had dark magic all over it. Someone knew I was a witch and what I was going to do."

"They left wolfsbane to throw me off the scent," his face grew dark, "Which means they knew we'd be together. Did you get anything off the medallion?"

His eyes settled on her, waiting. How could she tell him what she'd seen? How could she admit to him that his most private and painful memories were now seared into her brain as surely as though she'd been there with him?

"I need to go home and lie down."

"Bonnie, what the hell happ-,"

"Please."

He lowered his voice, "You were _choking_, there was blood pouring out of your nose, I could hear your heartbeat all over the place."

Bonnie wiped at her nose in reflex, and saw that the front of her t-shirt was splattered with dark stains. The memory of that putrid black water threatened to hurl her stomach again. She felt cold all over, alone and filled with a strange sadness.

"Derek, please. I just want to go home."

She hated sounding so weak, but all her senses were straining to hold steady, and a single push would dissolve her in tears. The last thing she would do was cry in front of him.

His hazel eyes studied her for a long moment, then with a soft curse he swept around to the driver's side. She said nothing on the way back, avoiding as much sensory contact with him as it was possible to in his car. His frustration was palpable though, and she was flummoxed between gratitude for his interventions and a desire to get as far away from him as possible.

"Still missing your necklace," he remarked at the stoplight. She dropped her hand from her neck; the habit of reaching for Grams' locket had become as natural as breathing.

"Yea, it's still missing." And suddenly she wanted Grams, wanted to see her face and hear her voice, to lay her head down on her chest and feel that hand rubbing her head . Bonnie bit down hard on her lip to stem the tears. If Derek noticed he said nothing, and she was grateful for his silence.

They pulled up at the McCall's. "Here we are, princess."

The nickname didn't make her flinch. Maybe it was what they'd just been through, or maybe it was the way he said it, but for just a moment Bonnie considered sharing what she'd seen, before an intimate embarrassment took hold of her again. "Thanks for the ride and for...helping me."

"Don't mention it," he turned off the engine and leaned his wrist on the steering wheel. For a few moments they both stared at the swish of wipers against silken rain, until the silence gnawed at her.

"I'll see you around."

She didn't meant to flinch when he touched her. Later when she lay in bed, chasing elusive sleep, she'd remember that his fingers were gentle on her forearm, that his voice when he said "Bonnie wait," was quiet and serious. But at that moment, still reeling from the memory of malevolent fire, her arm jerked away like she'd been burned.

A tight-faced Derek returned his hand to the gear and she saw a muscle jump in his strong jaw.

She wondered how long she'd blacked out for, realizing he'd carried her out of the woods and into his car. Awkwardness settled into her joints.

"Sorry, I just-," she trailed off.

"What really happened back there?"

"I already told you, someone covered that medallion with dark magic. It's like wolfsbane for witches."

Again his eyes pierced her, and she swallowed the truth with difficulty, focusing on the muddied tops of her sneakers. His voice grew low and quiet again.

"Are you telling me you didn't see anything?"

She tried the door handle. "It's all jumbled up. I'll remember better after I've had some sleep." she was a terrible liar but the alternative wasn't something she wanted to face. "You need to unlock."

He complied, the familiar stony mask slipping over his face. She wanted to say something, something that would return them to that brief moment by the roadside, when he'd looked at her like she would dissolve into the rain, and said _I could hear your heartbeat everywhere, _and she _knew_ that he'd been as afraid in those woods as she was.

Her neck and face felt warm, vulnerability prickling all along her skin. His eyes remained on the windshield, but there was a distant, reflective look in them.

"Just call me when you can tell more," he turned the key and the engine hummed to life. "Goodnight Bonnie."

There was no rough edge to his voice. He sounded far-away, and almost tired. Again the conflicting feelings surged up in her, again they choked her into awkward silence. She climbed out of the car, too burdened with secrets she'd never asked for.

* * *

**So there you go folks. I know that Berek are super awkward just now but give them time! They have a lot to work through. As I wrote this I anticipated that some of you might have issues with how vulnerable Bonnie seems here. I thought about this and realized that one of my major frustrations with TVD is how Bonnie is almost never allowed vulnerability and frailty: she's the one who's always helping, always sacrificing her happiness to save the day, always ready to forgive and make amends; there's never any exploration of the consequences and ramifications of supernatural power on a human mind and body. Witch powers, as I construe them, are about empathy and connection and pyschic awareness: all traits that are deeply tied up with who we are, how we feel, and what we're hurt by. In this story I wanted to give Bonnie, above all, a chance to inhabit her humanity in all it's complex, frail and powerful ways.**

**As always, I love hearing from y'all so please take a moment to review xoxox**


	6. Chapter 6

**Firstly, if you're still here and following this story: THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. I know the updates have taken forever, and I really really appreciate everyone that's stayed around and left reviews and reminded me why I started writing this story in the first place. It turns out that weddings are the enemy of writing and I really, truly didn't even have time to breathe much less write and edit quality fiction, so my deepest apologies again for keeping y'all hanging. But I'm back now and ready to accelerate this story and give you guys much quicker updates (promise!).**

**Now onto the story. Full disclosure: I haven't watched the new season of Teen Wolf nor have I watched too many episodes of TVD. I don't care for how either show handles these characters' stories, so I want to remind everyone that apart from the basics of their life-histories, this is AU. I'm hoping to take them both on a different, more redemptive journey than the show-writers care to. To that effect, I've taken some liberties with how Bonnie and Derek deal with the burden of their supernatural powers. With that being said, I hope you still recognize and enjoy these characters you love, and that this chapter makes up for the intolerably long gap in updates. Happy reading! xoxox**

* * *

_"there is a lust in pain, that_

_is frightening and wide. an_

_appetite. we want to feel._

_something. so we tend pain as_

_a lover, as a remedy, for the_

_things we have no name for. to_

_remind us we are alive."_

_-Nayyirah Waheed_

* * *

The old families called it Wolf-walking, when a werewolf expended his energy, his wolf sight, his wolf hearing, his wolf scenting, but didn't Change, an animal in human skin. If he Walked too long, the Change would either rip through his flesh and destroy his mind in the process, or he'd be forced to Walk until he died, neither human nor animal, and shunned by both.

In the Hale family, Walking was a time-honored test of strength and endurance, and one which Derek and Laura were subject to from the time they hit puberty. Derek hated it. All those school vacations spent in forests with their Uncle Peter or their Mom, no food except for squirrels and rabbits they caught themselves, no water except for rivers and streams. He'd return home craving and hating the feel of clean cotton sheets and a down comforter. The smell of french fries drove him crazy with hunger, then racked him with nausea until his throat burned.

Since he'd watched Bonnie almost die in the woods, he'd been Walking for four days. His attacker's trail was cold, washed away by rain and whatever malevolent magic Bonnie had struggled against. Still he Walked on, sleeping in the dirt and rising with the moon. On the fourth night when he found himself listening for deer with hunger burning his mouth, he forced himself to give up.

The room he'd made for himself at the Hale house was Spartan at best. Still even the dumpster-dive mattress on concrete blocks seemed suffocating in its comfort after 4 days of Walking. He stretched out his throbbing body on the floor, letting the sensory overload roar and seethe behind his ears, along his nose and brain, at the tips of his feverish fingers, until it grew tolerable.

The wolf receded, still awake.

He peeled off his clothes, sweat cooling on animal-hot skin. Dirt clung to his arms, his face, his cold bathroom tiles never made him flinch. The icy water steamed off his skin. He'd installed the 'shower' himself: nothing more than a spigot thrusting out of the wall, but it served him fine. Derek braced an arm against the wall, heaved a shuddering sigh.

_Derek, please, I just want to go home._

Bonnie, trembling and rain-soaked, yet with that unyielding angle to her throat. The warm flutter of her heartbeat. The wolf still paced behind his skull, restless, hungering for the horror in her eyes, the horror that recoiled from him. _Tell me what you saw tell me what you see_. Kate's voice all cool like silver, her eyes a leash: _ Fuck me, I dare you._ A growl clawed at his chest. He smothered it down.

_Thanks for pulling me out. I mean that._

The memory of Bonnie's scent was like the promise of soft sheets and clean water: piercing, driving his overawed senses into frenzy; the wolf's snarls softened to a low, growling whine. Its muscles rippled under his own, itching to break free. He tilted his head, let the water pour down his throat, felt the dirt loosen from his skin. Minute by minute the wolf grew quiet, shuffled, settled down, eyes glowing as it found the cave where it would sit until summoned.

Derek slathered the bar of rude soap across his chest and back, then up his thighs and crotch, giving his cock a soapy absent-minded stroke. When was the last time...? She'd had a brunette wig and a rhinestone G-string, smelled of Red Bull and only charged forty. He'd given her sixty. But no memories arose to stir him, no scent or sensation. His dick stayed half-limp and the wolf's eyes took on a mocking glow. _Stop hiding you know what you want what you need_. The taste of squirrel-flesh threatened to flood his mouth. He could feel the Change stirring, see the wolf rising to a slow, steady gait. _I'm coming. You want me._

Clasping the soap he inhaled a long sharp whiff, clinging for something, anything that wasn't earth, forest, flesh, blood. It was stale-sweet with artificial scent, but it was something. The faint odor of cinnamon unfurled in his brain, and a startling image pinioned him. _Bonnie_. Her head thrown back, bare shoulders slick with sweat as she rode him, slow and easy. His dick sprang to sudden life, only a few strokes and he was rock-hard. It was like a hidden floodgate opening, filling his mind with images both exciting and yet somehow familiar, like they'd been waiting for the right time.

Bonnie's skin. Bonnie's hair. Bonnie's damp and silken thighs parting for him. Her hand guiding him inside her. Her cat-green eyes glinting up at him while her mouth wrapped around his cock - "Fuck." He came with a sudden, sweet violence, pleasure roiling through his shaft and balls and surging hot in his lower abdomen. The cool water was delicious now, like he'd never tasted water before. His hand strokes slowed, then came to a leisurely stop. The wolf blinked, settling into his bones, quiet for once. Derek stood there until he started to feel the slightest bit cold. The slightest touch of his humanity. Such a small thing.

But it was enough.

* * *

Fire licked at her dreams, woke her up with charred edges of memory, left her throat raw like she'd been screaming.

Four days after she'd nearly drowned in a river of dark magic, four days after Derek stepped into the circle, and his memories seared her like a brand, Bonnie was bone-tired. She wanted a good night's rest. She wanted to forget the face of a young boy flickering while the night burned. She wanted to stop jumping at the smell and sight of flame.

She'd left Mystic Falls to get a break from being Full Time Witch, hating feeling like her powers controlled her day-to-day life. But her plans to go part-time- witching were thwarted when she arrived at work in the afternoon and found someone waiting for her.

"I need your help."

The girl looked 10, maybe 11, wearing battered jeans and an X-Men tshirt three sizes too big, with a braid poking out of her baseball hat. Her face was sun-browned with a small dust of freckles, and round dark eyes peered up at her. She'd been hiding behind the dumpster outside the shelter, but this time she didn't run away. Bonnie fell into the reassuring and gentle tone she'd seen Lakshmi use with some of the younger children at the shelter.

"Do you wanna come inside and sit down? We can have soda -,"

The girl curled hesitant fingers around her t-shirt hem. She had the wary, coiled posture Bonnie had started to recognize in children without homes. It was a sunny and cool September day: crisp leaves dotted the lawn and and a breeze buoyed the setting sun. The kind of day that made you want candy apples and warm rugs.

She tried for a smile, "You don't have to be afraid. There are people who can help you-,"

"Not like you."

The words caught her off-guard. "What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"No I don't sweetie, I'm sorry. But if you come inside we can-,"

Confusion flitted across the girl's face, like she'd shown up to the house of a familiar aunt only to be turned away at the door. Bonnie squatted down in front of her.

"Hey, how about we go inside and eat some pizza?"

She could see a flare of eagerness in the almond-shaped eyes.

"And then will you help me?"

"We'll all help you sweetie."

Bonnie stood up and extended a hand. The girl shook her head, and met her eyes, and Bonnie's vision in the forest came back of the same girl standing by a river while bloodless corpses floated by. The taste of foul water threatened to rise in her throat. She swallowed it down, tried to remember what else she'd seen, tried to ignore the bloated bodies and the distant cries of terror. A word struggled through like a bird on wounded wings; it brushed her conscious for a heartbeat before the black water swallowed it. A beautiful word, like the color of sunlight in morning windows, like music on the tongue.

"Aurelia..."

Grams had once told her that witches do the work no one else cares to. _Our powers_, she'd said, _are always a burden, and always a gift._

Something like relief and resolve mingled in Aurelia's eyes. The look of someone deciding, at last, to trust.

"Aurelia. That's a beautiful name."

* * *

Deaton hadn't planned on a third wheel.

To be fair, he was sure the 'wheel' didn't care for it either. But when Bonnie had explained to him the nature of the 'wheel's' arrival, and the need for her to be in safe company - safe being defined as a sufficient knowledge of supernatural entities - he couldn't exactly refuse. Besides, the girl had fear and loss stamped all over her, and that look of flickering innocence he'd seen in so many faces, through so many years.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed her slumped against the window, eyes heavy. He smiled. Aurelia, or Rei as she preferred, probably hadn't slept on anything other than hard floor for months.

"She's a cutie," Melissa McCall smiled at him from the passenger seat, "What's her story?"

_I'll tell you over dinner._

The words flashed through his brain. _Just ask her_. But he was so damn rusty, and he wasn't even sure what he was hoping for or what any of this meant. Scott had pleaded with him to talk to her and allay some of her fears about the supernatural world, and somehow that one coffee date turned into two and three and four and along the way he'd begun noticing how her hair curled wispy and romantic in the cooling air and how her eyes turned liquid with love for her son.

"She's alone and far from home," he flicked on the headlights as dusk crept down.

"What about her parents?"

He made sure Rei was asleep before replying. "We think they might have been killed."

Realization dawned on her face, "This is one of those cases isn't it?"

"I'm afraid even in the supernatural world, there's no shortage of lost children."

"Or lost parents."

Deaton stole a glance at her, saw her jaw tightened like she was biting down words. He had mentioned Ibrahim to her, but not how he died, not those last days. So many lost children. So much wordless grief.

"Every parent is someone else's child."

She snorted, "Tell that to my dad."

And Deaton wanted to know. He had questions about her, the childhood she sometimes mentioned with a light in her face like broken glass, the mother whose memory made her sad, the father she never named. All the secrets gathered up behind her smile.

They turned into the frontage road leading to the McCall house. Twilight was settled and content across the sky, waiting for the moon. It promised to be a lovely night. Deaton steeled himself.

"Hey would you like..."

The abrupt growl of an engine made him whip his head around. The car seem to have come out of nowhere - a dark grey Corolla with black windows- bearing down on them like an eyeless bird of prey. Disconcerted, he slowed down to let it pass but they flanked his car, veering dangerously close. When he sped up they cut him off. When he slowed down so did they. Eerie realization iced the back of his neck. They were being followed.

The next few moments happened in a blur. He sped up again but the Corolla did so too and before he could decelerate they'd cut in front of him._ I was wrong. They aren't following us._

They were being hunted.

Deaton swore. It was too late to slow down and all it took was a nudge from the Corolla for his Ford to go into a spin. He heard a scream. Someone's hand clutched his forearm. The steering wheel slipped through his fingers like butter. Then the jolt like an invisible wave shuddering from hood to trunk. He had a dazed second to register the light-post before pillowy whiteness swallowed his vision. Someone was saying his name.

"Deaton! Deaton are you -"

He struggled against the airbag. His right wrist hung askew. _What the hell-_ Melissa's face swam in his vision. Glass shattered somewhere behind him. A scream rose, high and piercing and terrified.

Instinct clenched his gut and he tried to cry out, tried to do something, anything.

But when he wrangled off his seatbelt and stumbled out, broken wrist dangling, he felt a weight like cold iron against his throat. His back was slammed into the car. Through a haze of dull, deep pain he saw the face: reptilian, white as bone, ice-grey eyes reinforcing the threat in the vice-like fingers at his throat. The slightest move and his neck would snap. He could hear Rei screaming and waves of helpless anger buffeted him. They'd come for her, hunters, monsters. He knew what they were. But when he struggled the iron fingers tightened. His vision tilted and he choked. The vampire smiled and withdrew his hand. Then a flick of the wrist sent him sprawling.

He heard the car speed away.

Rei was gone.

* * *

Bonnie pounded on his door as hard as she could. It eased the hammering urgency in her skull, the thudding _of my fault my fault my fault.**  
**_

It swung open and Derek stood there, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his hips and shaving cream dotting his strong jaw line. Behind him the shadows of the old house sulked between shafts of intermittent, dusty light.

"You done trying to break my door?"

Drops of water clung to the dark hair on his chest and her brain registered the scent of mint and soap.

"You weren't picking up your phone."

"Uhh..," one hand gestured at his towelled state, "Why are you all the way out here? I didn't find your necklace if that's what -"

"I don't have time to explain, Aurelia's been kidnapped," she added, flustered, "A girl, a little girl."

"What? Call the police -"

"She's been kidnapped by vampires," a rising tide of panic threatened to choke her, "I saw her. I mean, she was in my vision, and I think she's connected to the guy that attacked you and they're probably speeding away with her right this minute and you're the only person I know who has a fast car. Derek please."

In the ensuing silence her own heartbeat roared in her ears; it was rain falling against the cool glass of his eyes. _Please._ Then it trickled, shocked into calm.

"I'll get dressed."

Swamped with relief, she watched him disappear into the dark foyer and saw the tattoo on his back. Scott had told her about it once when they were discussing werewolf pack habits. At the time she'd brushed it off as just another egoistic gesture on Derek's part, but now, seeing its dark, self-contained, resolute shape etched on his broad back, she found herself intrigued. She wondered how old he was when he got it, and if he thought about fire that never touched him as the ink sealed into his skin. She wondered if the mark was raised, so you could close your eyes and trace it with your fingertips.

He reappeared in dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, his hair half-spiky, half-wet. She gave him quick details while they hurried into his car. He put on his Aviators and took the keys out.

"I haven't fought vampires before."

"I have."

"Rules?"

"None."

He raised an eyebrow, "So you aren't gonna go witchy peace-corp on my ass if I rip a head off?"

Confidence made her heady. Derek might be an alpha wolf but she'd faced some of the oldest, most powerful vampires in the world. And lived to tell the tale.

"Get us there. Fast. We do whatever it takes."

She couldn't read his eyes, but his slow, subtle grin melted the last dregs of anxiety in her veins like ice on hot skin.

The engine roared to life.

"Princess, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**I'm pretty excited to finish the next chapter actually, and I'm working on it right now. Please leave a review and let me know if you love/hate anything here :)**


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